


It's All About Where You Are, In Your Brain

by kingLATRANS



Series: My Empyrean Nirvana, So Out Of Reach [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Derek Takes Care Of Stiles, Hallucinations, Happy Ending, Hopeful Ending, Hurt Stiles, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, insane stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-04
Updated: 2014-02-18
Packaged: 2018-01-11 03:12:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1167960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kingLATRANS/pseuds/kingLATRANS
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"We- I couldn't help him. His- he was affected more... mentally, than me. Allison had the closest to his. But he couldn't tell what was real and he didn't know- he couldn't read, sometimes, and then he started with the bigger hallucinations."   </p><p>"Bigger hallucinations, what does that mean." </p><p>"He saw things sometimes. Like us, but it got... bigger. Derek, he completely lost it."</p><p>"I wanna talk to him."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I'm fine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is pretty bad, but it's the beginning to an idea that got lodged in my brain. The second half should be posted later tonight after I finish it.
> 
> This half only has DISCUSSION of the mental health issues. This work is also rated Teen because of said issues and their magnitude to the story.
> 
> Tags will be adjusted later and then finally whenever I have access to a computer instead of just my phone.

Derek isn't sure what made him do it, it's been a year since he left. Took Cora wherever she wanted and just didn't go back. He didn't have a phone. He had no method of communication to Beacon Hills. Not that he wanted any. There were- still are- bad memories practically everywhere. So really, he has no idea what could have possessed him to go back. Maybe curiosity, something sick and gnawing. He doesn't know, but he did. And he's not sure if it was a mistake or not. Not yet, anyways.   

 

He went to Scott first. He was still an alpha, Derek could feel it. Held himself like one, too. Standing in his home, door firmly held just open enough for the width of his shoulders. He was surprised, and with reason, to be honest. None of them had heard from him in a year. He didn't give anything close to hint at coming back. He could see the slightest disappointment on Scott's face back then, almost like it was yesterday.   

"Derek." Even the tone was curious and surprised and cautious from a single word. His name, in fact.   

"Scott. I..." He really didn't know what to say. At all. He still didn't know why he'd gone in the first place.   

"Sorry man, come on- come in, please." Scott still had that earnest air about him. Wishes and hope pouring from every orifice it seemed. His eyes though, they... they had a hollowness. Like old veterans. And seeing that hurt in a way he didn't expect. Scott was, what, eighteen now? He's not sure. But he's not suppose to look like that.   

"I'm, sorry. You know, for the sudden," He tried to signify whatever he was sorry for with waving his hand in a circular motion, "bombardment. Showing up on your doorstep out of nowhere. Suddenly." He finished the apology lamely before glancing back at the boy. Who looked somewhat shocked, somewhat haunted. "If it's bothering you I could-" He's hooking his thumb over his shoulder, pointing at the front door when Scott shakes his head vehemently.   

"No no no, it's one hundred percent okay. Sorry just, you reminded me of... someone. Someone I miss, a lot. Sorry." It ended just as stilted and awkward as his own. "So, uh, you're in town again." The smile offered to him was full of pain and happiness and he didn't exactly know what to do with it.   

But they talked. About a lot. Monsters that came through, "baddies" they'd all defeated. Allison easing down, and Isaac's explosion and eventual decreased volatility. A girl named Kira moving in and some very dangerous, adrenaline fueled adventures. They even got to put some Things into a Beastiary of their own. Deaton's brush with death and then finally a lie.   

"So yeah, everythings good now." It was then that he realized it. Stiles wasn't mentioned. Well he was, to an extent. The majority of supposed adventures and happenings, the recent ones Scott mentioned, didn't have anything. Not even a passing comment.   

"How's Stiles doing." And he knew he struck it. That spot Scott must cover with any and everything possible. Eyes cast downward and the weight of the air amplified. Derek was scared of what he'd hear. By what he had seen already but hearing is believing and all that.   

"He's. St- he's doing what he does." The boy was wringing his hands like a disease.   

"I was going to see if I could talk to him. Visit the sheriff-"   

"St-" Scott forced a breath then continued with a fragile tongue. "Stiles lives by himself now. He. It's- he wants to be alone."   

"What's wrong with him." It was fucking obvious something was wrong and Scott still looked at him with disdain for saying it.   

"Noth-"   

"Scott."   

"We couldn't get his door closed." Just like that, Scott the Alpha turned back into Scott the newly turned werewolf kid. Silent tears ran down the face he had buried to the side into his palm. "We- I couldn't help him. His- he was affected more... mentally, than me. Allison had the closest to his. But he couldn't tell what was real and he didn't know- he couldn't read, sometimes, and then he started with the bigger hallucinations."   

"Bigger hallucinations, what does that mean."   

"He saw things sometimes. Like us, but it got... bigger. Like... he thought that you were still here sometimes, or that Erica and Boyd moved away. He forgot his mom was dead and then asked what time he should visit his dad's rock at the cemetery. Derek, he completely lost it. Has whole versions of everyone in his head- of... reality, it seems. Like... different worlds where things happened, or are happening, differently or not at all." Everything felt empty and thick. The cushions he sat on were thin. His arms were jelly that held his heavy head.   

"So there's no helping him. He's... gone?" Derek had felt. He didn't know what it was exactly, but something akin to loss. Like some option could fix things if the idea didn't cement. Kids shouldn't be like this. He should've come back earlier and not just because of something as meaningless as bored curiosity.   

"I don't know. Deaton says that there's always a way no matter how open the door is, it's- we can't. Not- he won't let us. Along the line something happened with one of his... one his versions of us. He started lashing out. Small things until it escalated." That's an expression he knew. "Kicked Puppy." Abused and ashamed. But there was an anvil in his stomach at the apparent potential against mortality that a rambling child truly had.   

"What did he do."   

"He torched me, kind of. Allison too. He almost got Lydia and nearly killed Deaton. He was like an animal, but scared and so angry." Scott looked numb. Heartbroken and glazed over like a sleepwalker. He made a decision then. And still, he's not sure if he regrets that now. After what he's heard or seen.   

"I wanna talk to him." He was fucking scared as hell. Still sort of is, but it's nothing compared to how Scott was then. Totally destroyed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I lied, it'll be up sometime tomorrow.
> 
> I misscalculated my will to write in the occasion of television anxiety. 
> 
> It will be up tomorrow fo sho.
> 
> EDIT: I WILL ALSO BE BACK TO FIX SPELLING MISTAKES I HAVE MADE IN MY HASTE. THANK YOU AND GOODNIGHT


	2. I'm not insane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "He's still.... himself, sometimes. Rarely. Usually he'd switch from a couple. Places, I guess it should be called. And he'd get confused and then aggravated and upset that he was confused."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god. I didn't know I'd have so much to put down. It was just suppose to be two chapters.  
> Have no fear though! The conclusion will be up later. I'm already partially started on it.
> 
> Yeah so. Anticlamactic sort of, sorry. I wanted violence but it just didn't come. I might make it a series just to write something violent. From Stiles' POV.
> 
> ANYWAYS! Enjoy, and be prepared for one more.

The drive took them to a majorly deserted area. Scott has told him time and time again to be careful and to go with whatever Stiles said for the most part. Was very adamant about not taking anything he said to heart and to keep his own emotions in check. No sudden movements and no time particular questions. And finally that he wasn't going in with Derek. Not after what happened last time. Especially not after Stiles called him practically sobbing apologies and actually telling him to stay away.   

"He's still.... himself, sometimes. Rarely. Usually he'd switch from a couple. Places, I guess it should be called. And he'd get confused and then aggravated and upset that he was confused." The truck idled across from an old building. Grime and mold fed off it's corners and crannies.

"Here. He- what does he eat? How was the Sheriff okay with-"   

"We don't... we don't really talk about what happened with that. It was bad. I don't know, what he does. I remember how he was before we stopped coming, but I don't even know if he can carry an entire conversion anymore."   

The air was heavy again. Even with a blue sky and the sound of robins off in the distance it was heavy. He figured Scott knew how nervous he was about it. He'd go in there practically blind. From what he'd been told Stiles is unpredictable. Hallucinations, delusions of time and people and reality. Explosive emotional psychosis with internal triggers setting off aggressively violent episodes. Essentially he could be walking into mine field.   

"Look, Derek, I appreciate this- I'm sure he would too, but you don't have to." Scott was nervous too. He could hear it in the kid's heart and smell it wafting off his skin. But Derek had made a decision. He was going to try. His determination must be discernible in his silence because Scott just sighed and continued. "He was really upset after you left. There was a lot of sad, depressing emotion stuff coming off him for a while. I think part of hurting us was because of everything he's seen us do. But maybe he doesn't think of you like that." Scott drug his hand over his mouth, staring at the pavement through the windshield. Unfocused. "Get him under control if you can. Convince him, restrain him... knock him unconscious. I don't really care anymore as long as he's not dead. I'll be out here... Just, I'll be out here."   

"Okay. Okay, I'll do everything I can. He'll be alright. He has to be." Scott clapped him the the back of his shoulder before he got out of the truck, took calming breaths as he strode.   

The walls inside of the building were five times worse than the outside. Some had their lower halves crumbling away while some rooms were blocked off from the roof caving in in places. The farther he got the worse. Though it was maybe ten minutes walking until he heard noises. He followed the sound, slowly filtering into a voice, and the halls started looking better. Only slightly, but at least the building's infection hasn't spread this far.   

And so here he is. Standing just to the side of the doorless entrance to wherever Stiles had taken to dwelling. The closer he had gotten the more he got of the voice, Stiles' voice. A voice that spoke like the grit of rocksalt under the soles of shoes.   

"No no no, don't think you can guilt me into this. No, Scott, I'm not gonna do it! You know what, I don't care. Go for it, I know you want to! You've been waiting to fucking skin me alive with your damned teeth since he said I was weak. I know it, I've seen you stalk around my blind spot, waiting. Now you just wanna argue about it instead of fucking committing to it. Don't fucking touch me!" There was a beat of silence, then a smash followed by deep furious breaths. "I WOULD'VE GOT YOUR FUCKING HEAD IF YOU WEREN'T SUCH A FUCKING COWARD! GET BACK HERE SCOTT!" Foot steps snuck in circles, slowly going faster and faster then halting suddenly. "Fuck. F-f-f-fuck. Fffffuck. I, no. No no no no. No. I'm not. I didn't. Fuck. I need, shhhhhh. It's okay, okay, okay, okay... Okay? Okay." Derek steps from the edge, completely visible through the doorway.   

The room is in shambles. Layers of paint chipped apart to different degrees, moulding from the top of the walls were in chunks lining the edge of the floor. There're several holes along the walls ranging from dents from fists to the most newly acquainted large, basketball sized ring of emptiness. It's... it looks like a sledgehammer, head still hanging from a crook. Small pieces were still falling from its edges and the cloud of chalkish white still descending towards the dust swathed ground.

Stiles is crouched with his knees against his chest, face pushed into the corner of the walls. His shirt is worn and unsaturated, an almost dark pastel red. Tiny holes showing through to pale skin riddle about, following the collar and the hem of its sleeves and bottom edge. The material stretched across his back while he takes in breaths. The jeans he wore were ragged, some belt loops unattached like thick, sparse tassels. He's picking at the paint with short nails.

"Stiles," The boy's head snaps toward him, pale like the back of his neck.   

"D-Derek?" Stiles scrambled to his feet, fully facing Derek. He took a few rushed steps when he stopped like being pulled back on a string. His face shuddered, eye lids fluttering and relying on his hand at the wall for balance. Derek was ready to  help somehow but the boy straightened almost immediately. His previously glazed eyes are focused and sharp now. His fingers dip into the slope of the hole before he starts walking tentatively and shakily to Derek. He stilled about four or five feet away.

"Hi." At the word Stiles' face broke into a small smile. And Derek's attention was brought to that. The little scrapes on the underside of his chin, tiny cuts over his forehead and cheeks. A scar on his left brow, another larger one disappearing into oddly multi length hair, another just under the curve of his too pink bottom lip, and another that wrapped around the cartilage of his ear. The last looking thick and naturally healed. His eyes are still like honey and something feral, but there's a darkness in them. Even as those lips whose corners stick obscenely together pull up at the corners, bring his bottom lids into smiles of their own. His moles still litter his skin beautifully against pulp white cream. The ruddy blur taking shape on his cheeks and down his throat, two more scars taper beyond the curve of his neck and he's starting to wonder why he even left Beacon Hills that second time. He could've had this, could've helped in time before having to hear a mentally tormented teenager scream a deathwish and try to kill a hallucination of his best friend for years.   

"Hi," It's spoken like melting. Like out of some trashy romance novel where the girl hasn't seen the man in years until then. Which, it's donning on him how appropriate that might be if Scott was right. His insides feel taut now. Squeezing and distraught.   

"Stiles, um-" He takes a step further into the room and Stiles takes one backward, smile falling into sadness.   

"Please, don't. Don't, don't touch me,"

"Why?" Silence brings weight back to air and Derek is made frustrated by it. Air is suppose to be easier than water. Thinner than light, and good. Not like he's drowning and being held under. "I'm not going to hurt you-"   

"But you always do. You didn't talk to me for a while, but when you did it always hurt. And you've touched me and it felt like pain. And then you'd do things, good things- nice, things and it'd hurt." This... is vaguely confusing. The way he says it all sounds much more intimate than they'd ever been. And he's been completely out of touch for a year, maybe longer. Why Stiles would end up thinking of him with any capacity of niceness is beyond him, but Scott said to go with it. For the most part. Which Derek was assuming meant 'until he tries to kill you'. So he'll play along.   

"I... I know, and, I'm sorry for everything-"   

"And you always say shit like that! Why do you lie to me so much!?"   

"What do you want me to do! I've already done what I've already apparently done! Nothings going to change what's already happened! Nothing can, Stiles," He felt like shit. Yelling at a brain-struck kid. What the fuck has his life come to. And it only gets worse with tears beading up in the boy's eyes, the back of his hand pressing to his mouth. The distance he was putting between them. "So I'm sorry."   

The silence that came with that wasn't as heavy, much to Derek's surprise. It was like waiting for the engine to turn over. Potential and worry at the same time. But with reassurance, too. It was okay. Not bad or good. Somehow.   

"I can't believe you. Obviously I love you too damn much." Stiles makes a soft sniffle sort of sound against his hand and Derek can't exactly believe Stiles' own words. And it slips out before he could get a handle on himself.   

"When?"   

"I..." He lets out a private little chuff and he's smiling again. Small and like a sanctuary. Derek's fucked. "It was over that summer. You gave me the rest of your Twizzlers."   

And that's where Derek knows he is actually fucked. Because that wasn't a hallucination. Not a delusion. It- he remembers. Peter had just left the loft and Stiles started complaining about the antimerits of forcing young unconscious girls to resurrect dead out-of-style psychotic werewolves. Derek shoved the rest of the bag at him to shut him up. And maybe with some of the issues Stiles has at the moment, it's a little bit skewed and read a little bit too much into, but it was so simple. And it must have had some kind of impact to afford this. And Derek can't help it, god knows he's going to hell but he can't help it.   

His arms are around Stiles, curling into the boy's back with one hand in that oddly lengthed hair, mouth on Stiles' mouth and his chest to Stiles'. It's suffocating, but in a good way, however that works. Everything getting bigger and wide and open, god his chest feels so open. It feels like leaving the window down during a chill, or jumping into cool water, but on the inside on your bones and heart.   

Stiles' hands are at the side of his head, fingers in his hair and thumbs at his cheeks. His mouth is soft and wet and warm. Derek can feel how thin Stiles has gotten, can practically touch his spine though his face hasn't hollowed to the same extent. The boy moans but pulls back with a whimper, buries his face in that nest between Derek's neck and shoulder.   

"This is real, right? I'm not dreaming, and I'm not just seeing you, right? You feel different." His thumb still stroked Derek's cheek, the edge of it creasing a line like a trail.   

Derek wasn't sure he understood exactly. Stiles seemed to calm down besides the movements of his hand, making sure he could feel Derek. It was, maybe even worse than vague confusion. He wasn't sure where the line was anymore. Or if Stiles was even sure there was a line at all. Maybe... Scott said sometimes, right? That Stiles would be aware sometimes. Just most of the time he wasn't. Which would mean that he had to try getting Stiles out as soon as possible. He should... carry him out. To the truck. Shit, Scott is still waiting. Then again Scott thought he might die. And even with all this rattling around in his skull he can only manage to nod.   

"You always say yes. But you feel different."   

"This is real. Stiles, I'm real, you're real-"   

"Everybody's real?" He said it like it was something he'd done a million times. And with the way the kid's brain has been twisted into mush who knows. But his face was turning sad again. Turning somber and somehow reminding Derek of fatalism and how easy it is to settle into that mindset. "Somethings wrong with me. Some- doors and trees or something. I think. Something is wrong with me. Isn't there? You feel different and I don't feel normal anymore. I'm sorry." And he felt tears, had to be, meeting his own skin. The way Stiles' heart kept steady told him that Stiles didn't expect any less.   

"It's gonna be okay. You'll be okay, you just have to come with me, okay? Do you trust me?" He was ready to absolutely pick Stiles up and make a run for it. Derek is gonna fix this. He's going to help. 

"Always trust you. I'm tired though."   

"Good, that's good. You can sleep, just, here-" He was ready and he did. Quickly looped an arm under Stiles' knees and had the other holding the rest of him to his chest. "There we go. It's all okay. You have to promise me one thing though, okay?"   

"I'm like, your height, I'm not a damsel."   

"Height isn't a qualifying factor. Now you have to promise me-"   

"Yeah, anything."   

"Don't say that. You shouldn't say that." Derek was already making his way back through the doorway, noticing a black-grey scorch along the edge. He picked through the returning path carefully, trying not to jostle Stiles too much. "You can't hurt Scott."   

"S'my brother," And really that's all the answer he needs. His pace hastens until he's easing himself into the passenger seat with a drowsy Stiles in his lap, Scott looking bewildered.   

"Don't."   

"Wasn't gonna." It's a lie though and they both know it. It's still on his face, even. Brows pulled up and posture tilting forward like he has to force himself to actually not. He almost jumps through the cab roof though when Stiles speaks to him.   

"Hey Scott," It was thin and sad sounding but more exhausted than anything. Must be an adrenaline crash or something. Emotions, maybe. Hopefully this lapse of insanity will last until they can get him to a table at the vet.

"Hey bud." Scott took passing glances at him. Most likely wanted to touch him, he's still pack after all. It's been a long time.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also hey, tell me if anything is weird or just a mess


	3. Really I'm fine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "This'll work? What happens after he eats it."
> 
> "It will work. I'm not certain how he'll react though. Scott became increasingly violent and we had to... contain him. Whereas miss Argent became catatonic for hours until experiencing convulsions, reaching thirty second intervals before tapering off after fifty minutes. It is extremely dependant on the individual."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy god I hate everything. I had earlier classes after school and I got a little stuck here and there, but it's finally here!
> 
> I will reread it and fix any mistakes tomorrow because I'm exhausted to hell. Sheesh.
> 
> Enjoy!

The whole ride to Deaton's office was silent. Not necessarily from comfort but necessity itself. If Stiles wakes up there's no telling how he'll be. Derek's encounter was a bit eclectic but pretty anticlamactic. He's not about to underestimate this. He's seen the burns across Scott's shoulder and part of his chest. Most likely he'll find out what Allison took and will find out what happened to Deaton. He saw a hammer smashed through drywall in place of Scott's head and rabid pointless baiting.   

Derek doesn't exactly know what's going to happen, what has to be done. All he does know is that Scott and Allison are alive, so if they're doing the same thing to Stiles, he'll live too. Has to. But still, he doesn't know what will happen. And part of him is anxious about it and the other half is in blind certainty that everything will be fine. Because they're going to help this stick-thin, almost frail, kid get better. And honestly, how Stiles, in the shape he is, managed to pick up and swing an almost twenty pound bashing hammer accurately into a wall, he doesn't know. The mind is something of a mystery.   

Maybe thirty minutes go by, Derek's not paying attention, before they pull up to the back of the veterinary building. It's familiar in the way déjà vu usually is. And the fanning racket that the metal overhead door made rung loud memories.   

Dr. Deaton stood in an honorable and casually valiant method. The light from beyond the overhang showed unmarred skin until the open collar of his tucked-in button-up shirt presented a very pronounced, raised line traveling underneath the balled up paper exhaustion. Upon a second longer of inspection he can make out a row of small lateral scars going lengthwise the man's left forearm. He doesn't want to imagine what's there that he can't see, so he doesn't think about it, instead hefting the warm body in his arms.   

"Good evening Scott, Derek. Are we ready?" Déjà vu isn't really enough to explain the wash of memories at the calm tone.

"Yeah, yeah absolutely. We need to be really quick about this, m'not sure how long he's gonna be asleep." Scott rushed his way to the door under the overhang that lead into the back room with the table, stopping for a moment to look back at Derek. "C'mon, we need to get this done as soon as possible."   

Once inside he lays Stiles out on the metal slab, the boy only stirring then falling back to sleep. And really, considering all of the maneuvering he'd had to do with him, Stiles must have been without rest for a very long time. And it showed, it really did. The intensity of the lights making the darkness under his eyes so much more apparent. Blue and purple tinged bruises visible through the pale, almost translucent, skin of his face. Darker eyelashes casting vivid shadows to different directions.   

He could hear multiple footsteps then. From Scott's continued ease Derek assumes it's probably Allison and Isaac. Deaton is moving around, grabbing various bowls and square jars brusquely, setting them in orders and groups along a counter. He turns enough to partially face Derek.   

"He will need to be restrained."   

"I know." Derek's smoothing his fingertips across the table, following the edges of Stiles' hand. "What do we use?" The vet points loosely towards the drawers adjacent to the table, smiling ruefully.   

"There should be rolls of gauze in that drawer. Wrap it as securely as possible around his wrists and ankles then knot the ends very tightly on the legs. He could end up interrupting the ritual."   

"Why couldn't this be done before. When the other two did."   

"The materials required for this level of meddling in a damaged mind, let alone one whose 'door' is wide open, are extremely rare. The ones I used for Scott and miss Argent had been in my possession for at least a decade before. I only just received what was needed for Stiles last week on a stroke of luck." He pulled out two bundles of the gauze, tentatively unravelling one. Deaton was being far more open and forthcoming than he remembers. It was strange. Comforting in that he doesn't need to be on the brink of fury or death to get the answers he needs. Though he supposes given Stiles' current instability of mind, the man might be a little eager to finish this himself.   

He was moving on to Stiles' right hand when Allison, Isaac and Scott piled through the door from the waiting room. He didn't realize Scott had left. Not sure it really matters, actually. Not right now. Two of the three stood in their feet while Scott continued through, meticulously checking the knots in the gauze.   

Allison looks like she always had to Derek. Like a banded diadem. Pretty and esoteric, but with spines and barbs that will wound and perforate and destroy. Her smile is like Kate's, he remembers. Little things in her likeness that always made him grit his teeth before. Now she's just a girl. Young and broken. He's not sure if it was distance that affected these thoughts in particular or if it's the burn that snakes up the side of her left hand and continues with an uneven width, vanishing under the hem of her shirt's sleeve halfway up her forearm. Isaac is just about the same, if not a little more wide eyed. Confused and round like saucers. Maybe even a little in awe. Of course it was him that spoke up first.   

"We... You're back." Derek feels responsible for the disbelief, the hurt of potential disappointment. He really shouldn't have left. Should've kept in touch at least.   

"Yeah. I'm back." He offers the smallest smile, focusing back on Stiles' wrist quickly. Seriously, this kid must've been extremely sleep deprived if he's still out cold while being bound to a chilly metal table.   

"Is he okay? I mean, besides being fucking psychotic."   

"Isaac." The force in Scott's voice surprises not only Derek, but Isaac as well. And apparently the one they actually need asleep too, because Stiles is stirring more unmistakably resolute than before. Derek isn't able to wrap the boy's left hand by the time the movements seem more aware.   

Stiles pulls the right line of gauze and his eyes open so wide and sudden it's almost frightening. But it's the gnashing of his teeth that make Derek's bones go cold. All around him he felt not air pulled heavy, but air that was on fire and turning everything into ice at the same time. There was anger in Stiles' eyes, animalistic rage in the lines around his mouth and blending from the bridge of his nose all across his forehead. His body looked on the defensive though, free arm trying to pull him back on its elbow and knees drawn up as far as possible, maybe an inch or three. And it's just like what Scott said before. Angry and scared like an animal.   

"Stiles-"   

"Shut the fuck up, Scott! You tried to fucking eat me- I'm not letting that go!" Stiles tried at the right restraint again.   

"No, I didn't! We're trying to help you, just let us help!" Scott was taking a step toward the table when Deaton took hold of his shoulder, shaking his head softly.   

"I'm right as rain, jackass! I'm not the one tying people up to gorge on their fucking flesh! If only I aimed a little bit more to the right, huh?" It's a viscous edge to Stiles' voice. Raising volume and turning more worried when Deaton slides a jar off the counter, twisting the lid loose. "No, no no, NO, WHAT ARE YOU DOING." The way he tried to pull his whole body away reminded Derek of desperate animals caught in a foothold. Willing to mutilate themselves if it means getting away. Deaton looks pointedly at him where he's standing far to the side of Stiles. "WHAT'RE YOU GONNA DO."   

"Stiles,"   

It seems enough like a slap to the boy's face it hurts. Broken, destroyed, dilapidated, fragmented, mangled. Too much on one face whose eyes look like glass, like rain pooling on the sill and making its way off and down the wall. His body pushed away from Derek's proximity and jesus christ, he wasn't really prepared for hurting this much in one day.   

"Derek?" Small and withered and heartbreaking, completely unsure and distressed.   

"I'm here, yeah." He tried to smile but he just couldn't do it while being looked at like he brought down the world.   

"I, I don't-"   

"It's okay." Derek crowded up to Stiles as much as he could, aware this might not be the best choice but trying to block everyone else out. He held on softly to the sides of Stiles' face, brushing the tears away with thumbs. "You love me, right? You trust me?" 

"How-" The boy's breath shuttered, whimper letting itself out of his throat. "Yeah, yeah. I do." A loud sniff and Stiles' free hand wrapping around his wrist had Derek easing down with soothing quite words.   

"Then I need you to trust me, okay? I want to help, and they want to help too."   

"I know, but it's not right. It's, they want me gone. I know it, I saw it. I can, it's in their faces. I see their eyes."   

"Hey, no, just trust me. That's all you have to do. Trust me. I won't let them hurt you."   

"Just you." It's said so freely he almost misses it. Reverent and accepting at once.   

"I wouldn't-"   

"DON'T LIE TO ME. Just, stop lying to me. You hurt me all the time, but I love you. It's okay." The erratic speaking lodges Derek's heart in his throat for a second before he just nods dumbly. He can't open his mouth to this. It'd end badly. "It's always okay."   

"Okay?" His voice croaks with emotion minutes later. So much fucking emotion it's like he's been a machine his whole life until now.   

"Okay." 

It takes an amount of time for Stiles to calm down. He's still tense, but it's better than spitting ill omens at the rest of them. He keeps petting Derek, saying it's okay he hurts him. He wants to reassure Derek, but all it's doing is rolling his stomach even more. He's thankful when the finger taps his shoulder, to say the least.   

"He needs to ingest this willingly. He will not take it from us." Deaton holds a bowl filled with a slight amount of what looks like sand in texture and clay in color. Derek turns fully toward the man, hand still being grasped tightly behind him.   

"This'll work? What happens after he eats it." Hesitantly he takes hold of the bowl, frowning at its contents.   

"It will work." Derek appreciates the determination and surety in his voice. "I'm not certain how he'll react though. Scott became increasingly violent and we had to... contain him. Whereas miss Argent became catatonic for hours until experiencing convulsions, reaching thirty second intervals before tapering off after fifty minutes. It is extremely dependant on the individual."   

"Right, of course." He returns to facing Stiles, restraints still not removed.   

"All of it."   

"Right." The 'sand' swishes like normal, not-magical-brain-manipulation sand. If only he had no reason to say words like that in that order and them not make sense ever. "You need to eat this."   

"Because I couldn't hear within three feet of me, thanks Derek." It's an awkward smile, but a smile nonetheless. He feels marginally better. Handing over the bowl to Stiles' was something like a hammer and nail. Not bad finality. No. But maybe like waiting for an ending before getting to start again. Derek held the side of Stiles' head, the boy resting some weight on him. "Bottoms up, yeah?"   

"Yeah." His breath caught in his throat at the sight of Stiles' neck stretched upward in front of him. The bowl tilted all the way back before completely falling with a screaming loud clatter and Stiles collapsing unconscious in his arms.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TELL ME IF YOU WANT AN ACTUAL CONCLUSION CAUSE I JUST KIND OF STOPPED WHERE I FELT IT WAS GOOD.
> 
> I WANT TO FINISH BUT I DON'T KNOW IF FOUR chapters is too ridiculous. Sorry about caps. So yeah. I don't know how long a fourth would be. Not as long as this, hopefully.
> 
> But yeah.... no I'll make a fourth. Yeah. Fourth chapter, it's official.
> 
> Sorry.


	4. I promise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "That didn't go as bad as I thought it would. Imagined a lot more fire. Maybe some blood. This was much more easy."
> 
> "We still have a while to go before anything can be easy."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOLY DANG IT'S HERE. I AM SO VERY SORRY FOR THE WAIT BUT IT'S HERE!  
> YEAAAAAAA
> 
> It took some.... brain stuff, but i'm okay with it for the time being

“WHAT’S HAPPENING.”

“Easy, Derek, this is all part of the process.” Deaton was easing scissors through the coiled gauze, cradling Stiles’ ankles and wrist each time. Scott and Allison were clearing away the materials the vet had previously set out, both shifting anxious glances at Stiles now and then. “He’s alive.” The man pauses with Stiles’ right hand in his, “His pulse is normal for now.”

“For now. How long is this 'process' going to take.” Derek bit out through clenched teeth. Stiles was alive, he could hear the boy’s heart, feel the warmth through his skin, the movement of his ribs. Lungs expanding, blood pumping. Like he was just asleep. But he was limp like he was asleep, too. Like death, too close to it.

“We don’t know. As I said before, it’s extremely dependent on the individual. If this goes on for long enough though, he will need to be taken to the hospital. We don’t want this to affect his physical health, and I don’t have the proper equipment for long-term care. Especially for people.” Allison approached Deaton nervously, wringing her hands like she planned on breaking all her fingers at once.

“What should we do until… until he gets better? I don’t think we should move him, but what about when he wakes up?”

“No, you’re right, interfering could hold unprecedented consequences. Just leave him there for now. Call an ambulance if this prolongs for longer than twelve hours. If he wakes up… well, that’s the variable. You’ll have to be prepared for whatever happens then.” He pulls on a dark jacket, ring of keys clinking daintily in his fingers. Single hand lifting the zipper up, covering the scar and part of his neck with the high pitched feeding of its teeth. “I need to sleep, however. Seeing as I have to return in the morning to work. Scott, you’ll be excused until further notice. The office is at your disposal. I trust that you will be responsible in your choices. Good night and good luck." And then he left. The hum-grumble of his car fading with distance.

The silence was weighted. Not like the air, that still has a dissipating energy. The "if" and sudden uncertainty of what comes next. What's this going to do to Stiles, how will he perceive things now. It's not something that Derek thought too much about beyond the assumption that this was the best choice. There's a reason his rash movements in the past never come out as well as they went in. For all he knows Stiles won't wake up, for all he knows this was like forcing unsteady, brittle beams and now everything is actually broken. An entire house collapsed and Stiles is nowhere to be found. And maybe he's dwelling too much about what was done just minutes ago that he can't change. Just minutes, such a short time. Looking at it like a timeline he feels like he could reach back, maybe do something a little different six minutes ago. But he can't, and he's dwelling uselessly. There's no definite that Stiles won't wake. Allison did. Scott came out of his situation. Stiles will too. But that doesn't change how... utterly insecure he feels about this.

"That didn't go as bad as I thought it would." Isaac is leaning in the door way. He's been standing in the same spot, watching everything with what seemed like disinterest. The way his fingers fidget along his elbow, arms crossed closely to his chest. He rubbed the hollow between his eye and bridge of his nose, brows raised when he noticed the three of them staring at him. "Imagined a lot more fire. Maybe some blood." He pointed at Stiles, "This was much more easy."

"We still have a while to go before anything can be easy." Scott shifted at the side of the table. His thumb running over a rounded edge of it. Derek thinks he can see something there. Something like pain and assurance. Like it'll all be over but that he knows it won't actually work that way. Just more potential for the future hurt. Not to mention your brother relishing in almost killing you. That's bound to put a damper on success.

They stayed there for a bit. Derek was partially sat on the table, torso twisted to see Stiles' face. Pale and still. Didn't twitch, didn't move. Just his chest, breathing. And the silence, god Derek hated how quiet it was. Anticipation is something like arthritis, he would imagine. It gets worse as time goes and it grinds you down until you're nothing but deterioration. That's what he's gotten from commercials, anyways. Derek's read about REM sleep somewhere, he's not sure where but he knows enough about it all the same, and Stiles' eyes weren't moving. Nothing was moving and Derek was noticing that he sounded like a broken record in his own head.

"Why would he think you tried to eat him?" He didn't bother to look at Scott. There's really only so much Derek can handle of seeing Scott morose and somber.

"I. I don't know. I never tried to. I mean, there was when I first turned. I almost killed him. But since then nothing." Scott sounded more confused and thoughtful than upset, so that was a plus.

"Well, a delusion- that's what was happening, right?" Allison cut in and, in all honesty, Derek has never been more glad to have more people talk, if only to distract.

"Yeah, among other things." Scott answered her.

"Well," She started again, "delusions are when your visions of memories go wrong, right? When, what you see gets twisted around in your head. Made-up facts and things."

"A fixed false belief that is resistant to reason or confrontation with actual fact." Isaac spoke up again, looking down at his phone then back up to them. "Like the crazy people who think everyone's out to get them. But with us trying to kill him followed by hallucinating and him killing the hallucinations." He stops before crinkling his brow back at the phone, pronouncing "Paraphrenia," and frowning exaggeratedly.

"Right." Scott's teeth were nearly grinding. Derek assumes he was right from the beginning. Stiles is a sore subject. Not like an embarrassment, but representative of Scott's failure to help. That he couldn't help Stiles, that he's at fault and resents himself. But also protective. Derek's seen it when he was in school. Older siblings sticking up for the younger. He remembers Laura punching out a kid who was talking bad about Cora. She was small then, and mostly in control. They were all small then. They were all young. And these kids were even smaller, even younger. But all the same, Scott didn't like talking about Stiles. Especially when it was derisive in any way. And if it was on the fence it had the same connotation and if it was outright he was still just as angry. And there wasn't much else to say about Stiles recently that wasn't derisive to Scott, he thinks.

"Yeah." Something was happening. Something’s going to change and it could be bad, worse or alright depending on how any of them react. "Look, Scott, I love you. I'd die for you, you know that. But him? No, I don't really care for him beyond how you do. If it were up to me I would've killed him when he started carrying carpenter tools. But you didn't want to, so he's here. And that's great I guess. But he's a liability, and probably still will be after this and I have physics and trig homework. So I'm gonna leave all of this... Stiles stuff to you. I'll see you." He waved to Allison and walked out, feet seemingly compelled by the ghost of Deaton's steps.

The air is simmering by the time Derek processes what's happened. The fact that Isaac would've killed Stiles without a qualm was... unexpected. However the fact that he didn't because Scott wanted so desperately for Stiles to be okay was not. Betas tend toward favoritism more so than others. Like when you feed a stray cat and it keeps coming back. But Scott is angry. He's furious and it's written all over him. The repeated gripping of his closed fists, the steep rise and fall of his chest, the set of his jaw, red of his eyes. Derek could feel it. And it's only a matter of time before he does something physical.

It's still a surprise when it comes not even half a minute later of pacing. A deep echoing 'toom' followed by sharp ringing of miscellaneous objects spilling into the floor along with a few dull 'dunk's. When Derek looked at Scott for the first time after he entered the room with Isaac and Allison, he saw what must have been about thirty different emotions. And this, he feels, this image of Scott, would be the picture of anguish. With red anger and tearful grief. Sadness in the shape of his mouth and distress in the tight, taut line of his shoulders.

"Scott!" She rushes toward him, stops immediately when he puts a hand up. Derek looks down to Stiles. Thumbs through the boys dark, uneven hair. It's gotten darker since last he's seen him. Though that could just be the length it is now.

"It's fine. I'm fine, everything is fine. I'm just- do you want a seat? I'll go get chairs. Derek?" Derek grunts in response and ignores everything but Stiles. He's been stable since eating that sand stuff. So much so he can't help but feel anxious.

He's not sure what time it is, but he starts to get tired. He knows it's still night though he can't see the angle of the moon. His lids are starting to get heavy and he knows both Allison and Scott are asleep in chairs up against the wall. Half of the long fluorescents above them light the room, keeping it from entire darkness. He supposes rest wouldn't be too damaging, of course he's not going to stop listening for Stiles' heart. Not anytime soon.

A guitar strumming. That's what it sounds like when you're muddled with sleep. Like trying hear something above ground while you're still just barely under the surface. It all just bleeds together. Ripples in the water. But when it starts moving faster, it's a jolt in the status quo. A voice suddenly heard that prevents you from sleeping.

And it's still dark when he opens his eyes. Miraculous, it seems. He's losing track of time. The light from the moon is pouring in now. The halo barely seen from the corner of the furthest window. It illuminates Stiles' skin. Makes him look ethereal. Something more godlike and holy. But his eyes twitch, so Derek has to move. He steps as lightly as possible. Pale, pure light hitting the toes of his shoes then steadily engulfing him. Stiles' breath was only slightly labored though his heart was beating like a drum. Eyes practically spun behind his lids. Derek treads his thumb along the boy's brow, watching him in these small, minuscule movements. Soaking it in, waiting.

Sleep still grips at his senses and perhaps that's why he didn't notice the smell of blood until now, when it trickles down out of Stiles' nose. Like a stain on parchment, and all he can think is how wrong he was. That this was a mistake. Even if he still left when he did, if he actually held true to the other's belief that he'd never come back, maybe things would have gotten better on their own. Maybe Deaton would have come up with something less plausible and more concrete. Maybe Stiles' mind could've fought this... thing off given enough time. Because Derek was wrong. Always is. And his- what his problem really is, is that he never stops trying. And yes, that's an admirable quality in some- like Scott. But not Derek. If he keeps trying he'll just keep making more and more mistakes.

The blood smears under his thumb, leaving the boy's skin little by little while he tries to wipe it all away. But it keeps coming and that's when he starts shaking. Not much, just a small tremor in his arms and knees. It starts in his stomach, too.

"Sc- Scott!" The kid is up in a second, Allison stirring until she's more vertically oriented and sitting ram-rod straight.

"What- is he gonna be okay? Scott?" Derek should have noticed her before. Not- not like that, but how she's changed. More from just how Derek felt. Allison seems more subdued, more willing to stand back and he doesn't really want to know how that happened. Whatever did that to her must've been... well he doesn't want to know. Just, she's changed. And it's kind of funny, he thinks, that seeing such a change in the person he would care least for if not for the people he doesn't know even exist at that moment is what settles it all for him. He's been gone and things have changed, better or worse about everything's changed. And he's a broken record again.

"Call Lydia, see if she's feeling anything." Scott's trying to examine what he can when Derek is holding Stiles' face like he might die. In all honesty Derek isn't sure who he means and he doesn't really care. Just that Stiles' ears are starting to bleed like his nose and Derek doesn't know what to do.

"Scott!" His own voice is ragged, palms covered in bright blood. Not the dark stuff that comes oozing or pouring from arteries. The thin watery kind with the slightest orange hue to it. It'll dry like rust if he lets it. Not a black-burgundy.

"I know, I know!" Scott's trying to wipe as much out of the curves of Stiles' ears but it just keeps coming and Derek really doesn't know how much blood people can lose.

"She said nothing but the usual. She wants to know what's going on and where we are." He didn't even realize that she called and talked to Lydia let alone stood up to get a look at what was happening. She bit her lip though her hands were steady. More than what Derek could say for himself.

"Tell her we're working on it." Derek was left to hold Stiles' head while Scott went to go through a cabinet.

Stiles heartbeat was accelerating, his breath coming out in the same fashion. It felt... strange. The juxtaposition of emotions and thoughts. One side saying that the kid was dying and the other saying he was at least closer to consciousness. And... he's not sure how he actually feels. It's like an inbetween but not. An absence of feeling, almost, because of an abundance of feeling. But it sort of shatters when Stiles' hand shoots up to grab Derek's wrist like before while the other flails outward, trying to find purchase somewhere somehow.

"SCOTT!" It was Allison then, he could hear but wasn't paying any attention to anything but Stiles.

The boys chest started lifting into the air, spine nearly curved into a torc, as his mouth opened agape in some silent noise. Derek has seen commercials of movies when he was around a television, who hasn't they play nonstop. And as much as he would hate to equate this to that, the scene before him- that he was involved in to some extent, is like from one of those spirit movies. The ones where to person gets possessed and the laws of gravity aren't a concern during an exorcism. The nails of that one hand dug into his arm, force biting when Scott wrapped his own hand around Stiles' wrist.

"No no no, wait, stop!" Scott let go like Stiles was poison. The other hand that was sent to find grip elsewhere finally gave up and clenched desperately tight onto Derek's upper arm. His eyes were still closed but now out of what seemed to be pain. And he tried to take it, he did, but it wasn't working. Stiles was gasping loudly, his ears and nose bleeding, and when Derek could get his mouth in the right light he could see a black granular substance sticking behind the boy's teeth and the back of his throat and tongue.

It was a matter of seconds before an asphyxia induced silence gave way to a scream. He'd say it was loud enough to break glass, but seeing as how Banshees can do the same it'd be an inappropriate hyperbole. It did however shake his eardrums and curdle his stomach. After that Stiles' body collapses and Derek has a moment of inane panic that history can literally repeat itself within a single day. Thankfully he doesn't go out like a light again, unfortunately he's now writhing. A wet spray of blood speckles from his nose across his lips, soft lips, and tears are coming from scrunched up eyes, pain everywhere that Derek isn't able to take away. And the screaming, the litany of pleas and agonized whimpers. He isn't- Derek doesn't know what to do.

"It's okay, it'll be okay. Stiles? Stiles hey," Scott is standing behind Stiles' head, his hands hovering over the crown of it. He was trying to stay calm, they were all trying to stay calm. Enough to figure something out at least.

"No ambulance then?" Derek looked up to see Allison eyeing Stiles worriedly, almost nervous, and keeping her distance. Maybe the change was more due to Stiles' presence than anything else. She flinched back toward the wall when Stiles' arm came out to the side, the same one that reached away from Derek slamming into the metal.

"Stiles," His voice didn't help like it did the last few times, didn't do anything but make the boy turn his head. The curdling in his stomach roiled in dread. More so when he kept forcing against Derek's attempts at eye contact. Kept turning the same direction as that one arm. His other hand felt cramped into place on Derek's forearm, holding for life it seemed. But he kept going. Head turning, then shoulders, until he was lying on his stomach, his own arm braced against his chest, huffing a dripping breath to the floor. Then the vomiting started.

Scott moved hesitantly back, kneeling to pick up a previous discarded towel. Derek was stretched awkwardly across the table and Stiles' back thanks to the relentless grip on his wrist. Allison crouched to help Scott, telling him to get more towels. She looked up at Stiles, uncertain but hopeful. A light in her eyes that had Derek thinking that she was looking forward to a good future. And it was silent. Derek didn't mind it this time. Gave him a chance to collect himself.

Twenty minutes. Twenty minutes of being stuck with a kid purging his stomach of sand, black muck and what looked like blood. It was unpleasant to say the least. But it did stop. After twenty minutes it stopped, and Stiles was out of it again. Not sleeping, but drowsy. Still alert to some degree, and Derek was glad of that. Glad to see open eyes even if they were worn and red rimmed. Glad that the bleeding stopped and that his voice was conversational if not low. The sound made Derek think of an overly balled up piece of paper that's had someone try to flatten it out. And it wasn't long before Stiles started talking, even if it was to apologize.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." He was watching Scott and Allison intently. Brows coming together and more tears trying to surface.

"Hey, no, don't apologize. You weren't..."

"I was crazy. I think I still am."

"Stiles you're not still-"

"But I am, Scott. It doesn't feel right. Everything is different inside and-and I don't know what to do. I don't know what's going on in my head. I- I remember you trying to eat me and trying to... do... just, bad wolfish type things. I remember it like it happened, but I remember it not... going like that, either. I don't know what's happened and what hasn't and who's done what or not. I'm still... I'm still not right, Scott. I don't know if I'll ever be. You don't feel safe anymore, nothing does." This silence Derek doesn't like. It's sad and angry and awful.

"Can I talk to him alone?" All eyes were on him. He really doesn't know how Isaac can stand this. But Scott nods, takes Allison out with him. And then he's alone with Stiles. Who looks shocked.

"I. You're here?" His jaw was loose. Black grain in the corner of his mouth and stuck along some of his gums. His heart was fast. Not as bad as before but still elevated. "I thought. I knew you weren't really here. Before. I knew it. Like, like a fact ingrained into the back of your head that you can't remember during a dream. My head always tricked me though. I. Am I dreaming again? Am I still dreaming?" Stiles' eyes were wet again and he looked defeated. Like he'd tried so hard and whatever it was just didn't work.

"I'm real." But he had that unsure expression, that thing about him that kept saying it wasn't true. "I swear to god, Stiles. I'm here." The smile that came was tiny, a speck in the universe, and so frail that he couldn't breathe. Tears came with it, but Derek was still glad of that, too.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, I'm real."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Hello! I hope this was up to par to what you guys were looking for! I also hope this wasn't confusing or overly dramatic, oh jeez do i hope
> 
> But yes! This is the last chapter, yes. Finally. My dream is that everyone is at least pleased that it's finished
> 
> I will be absolutely sure to check on it later to be sure everything is good, but feel free to tell me about anything that looks wrong! You'll be doing me and other readers a huge favor, i'm sure
> 
> ALSO! It'd be great to have an opinion on a future series?  
> Like, i'm a little curious myself to kind of see what i can do with an "aftermath" type deal. How Stiles copes with everything in his head, how everyone else deals with it, and maybe explore some things that were brought up and then dismissed  
> BUT, there's a question. Should it focus entirely on Stiles, or both Stiles and Derek. Stiles will be the main either way, that's a promise


End file.
